


Reality in Her Hands

by AnontheNullifier



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a happy-ish ending, BAMF Wanda Maximoff, F/M, Infinity War and After, Intermittent Fluff, Pre and Post Civil War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8422207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnontheNullifier/pseuds/AnontheNullifier
Summary: Reality is subjective based on the perspective of the individual experience, or so Wanda always believed until Vision suggests she has the ability to manipulate reality.  As Wanda grows more powerful and events push her life out of her control, she must decide if risking all of reality is worth saving the life of the person who matters most to her.





	1. A Brief Look at Reality as it Stands

**Author's Note:**

> I hate to add this note, but this story is never happening. When I started it I had this grand plan of a sweeping epic and just didn’t have the time or grasp of all the characters that I needed. Since then I’ve essentially pilfered my favorite bits from the outline and written them into other stories. If you want to see the main stuff taken, go read Achromatic. The climax of that story was going to be relatively similar to this one. Particularly the chapter with Wanda and Strange.

**Present day**

There is a rhythm to the beeping, it is a bit too delayed and drawn out to be a heartbeat. What it should be is a thump every half second, but this is a shrill digital note every second; too slow but it's the closest she'll get at the moment and so it is good enough. 

Focusing on the rhythm, Wanda winds up her hands, wrists bending at sharp angles and her fingers dancing a delicate, purposeful pace. The red energy swirls in front of her, ebbing and flowing with her fingers, until it forms a fuzzy sphere. She releases it and watches with detached, unsurprised despondency when it dissipates on contact. An involuntary sigh echoes around the room as she sits down and stares ahead at the cryo tube.  The blue tinted glass distorts her view a little, but Vision’s face is serene, just as stoic as when he was still alive. Not still alive, she worries at the way her thoughts are growing more fatalistic each day, alive but in stasis. Hopefully. 

This next sigh is purposeful and self-deprecating. He kept his end of the bargain, arguably the more difficult task, and yet here she is, months later and unable to follow through on her word. Wanda stands, readying her hands for another try, when the intercom clicks on. “Wanda, Doctor Strange is here for you.” 

With a sad smile and a shrug of her shoulders, she makes a promise she is fairly certain she can keep. “I'll be back, Vizh.” 

 

As she walks into the common space she can already make out the tall, lithe figure in the ridiculously high collared cape. Strange is the only Avenger who insists on being in uniform when he visits the compound. That is why she takes pleasure in treating him informally “Stephen.”

“You're trying it again.” No pleasantries, though she can detect the strained worry in his voice even if he tries hard to keep his face neutral. 

She crosses her arms and brings her shoulders up into a halfhearted shrug. “Not sure what you're talking about.”

“You are well aware of my ability to sense disturbances in our reality.” The thread of his calmness begins to unravel at her silence, his mustache trembling with acute anger when she smiles innocently at him. “After everything we have talked about, after what I taught you, you still insist on trying?” 

Wanda fights the nervousness growing in her body, striving to remain as nonchalant as possible in the face of the Sorcerer Supreme. “You said I had a choice, and I'm making it.”

“I believe the implication was, if you wished to be selfish and potentially tear apart the fabric of our universe, then yes, you have a choice.”

“You truly would not do the same if it was Clea?”

If the silence belonged to anyone else, she would call it hesitation, but Strange is a man of confidence, his arms crossing as his stance stiffens. “I would consider the universe more important, but it would never mean I loved her any less.”

Perhaps he is right, but where he is a logical, controlled force in the universe, Wanda has come to realize that pure, unadulterated chaos runs through her veins and sparks from her fingers. “Perhaps we love differently.” Wanda turns and begins to walk away, tired of having the same conversation day after day. A static pulse builds behind her and she raises her hands, automatically cocooning herself in a shield of red, sensing Strange’s attempts to stop her. They have been training together for so long now that his power has little effect on her and so she continues on, ignoring whatever he is yelling at her. 

 

Wanda continues down the hallway, bypassing her room and walking until the last door on the left. The door slides open with a flick of her wrist and she enters the room, glancing at the Monet replica on the wall before closing and locking the door. Vision has not used this room in a long time and Wanda finds the eerie stillness of the vacated space more conducive to her work than the one they have shared for over a year. The memories here are settled in with the dust, trace fingerprints of flirtations and questions etched away, waiting to be rediscovered at her own pace. 

Against the far wall is a new edition, a sturdy desk covered in potted plants, jars with moths beating their spotted wings, and two cages with chittering mice. Wanda grins, removing her gloves as she surveys her laboratory, the argument with Strange fueling her desire to experiment more. She sits at the desk and frowns at the way the tiger lily is prostrated, petals morosely skimming the desk. Wanda lifts her left hand, light glinting off her ring as she brings her thumb to her ring finger, a tiny ball of red forming where they touch. Gently she sends the energy towards the lily, lips curving up as the flower straightens and the petals spread apart, reminiscent of the day he gave it to her. 

She next turns her attention to a mug, half full with tepid tea from the day before. Wrist cocked up and to the right, pinky pointing straight and a simple thought of warmth and now steam rises from the mug. One taste confirms that Sam made it, just a touch too sweet and cream instead of milk. But it is good enough to keep her going tonight. Wanda’s eyes scan the desk, contemplating what will allow her the most distraction. There is a petri dish, buried under layers of hand written notes, that holds a crushed topaz stone. Briefly she thinks about it, but just that simple thought is enough to pull a tear from her eye. Wiping it angrily away she sets her face into a scowl and her eyes land on a different container. 

“Okay Radagast,” she reaches out and picks up a jar containing a brown moth with fuzzy, twitching antennae. “Time to try again.”  She opens the jar and with practiced ease traps the moth in her hand, forming a small cage with her fingers. Its wings beat helplessly against her palm and she waits until it calms down before opening her hand so that it is flat. Wanda bends her face down so that her eyes are level with the moth, a red mist rises from her skin, and she opens her lips: “No more.” She holds the red for several seconds, sweat beginning to bead along her hairline. “I said,” her powers grow brighter as she visualizes all of the diagrams of the inner workings of the moth down to the molecular level, “no more.” The words vibrate the moth’s wings and then, for the first time, the moth falls limp in her palm. 

  
Wanda smiles. This is progress. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be the shortest chapter, the rest will be probably 3-4x longer. Up next we go back in time to see where this reality warping journey started -- on a couch and with a little flirting between our favorite synthezoid and witch -- and how it progresses slowly towards the present.


	2. The Reality of Falling in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda begins to learn the basic functions of her reality manipulation, all the while growing closer with Vision throughout her training.

**4 years earlier**

 

It all starts on a Wednesday.

Wanda is curled on the couch engrossed in a book on the mythology and rituals of the British Isles when she senses someone approaching. Though she does not make a habit of reading the minds of her teammates, each one emits a certain mental signature. Sam’s is comfortable, warm like the hug from a friend. Steve’s is surprisingly mellow, a melancholy overtone to an otherwise amenable mind. Rhodes’ is sharp and disciplined, closed for even the most basic probing she could do. Natasha, hers pulsates like a war drum and Wanda can't help but admire what it must take to remain so focused with such a mind. And then there is the one currently gliding towards her: calm, frighteningly organized, but also curious to the point of naivety. 

“Hey Vision.”

He stops at the edge of the couch, face serene as ever but the way his fingers cannot stay still at his side means he has found her with a specific topic in mind. “Hello, Wanda.” He still says her first name slow, unused to the informality of it, but Wanda appreciates the gesture as it makes her feel more comfortable than being called Miss Maximoff all the time. “How far are you in the book?”

“Um,” she looks down, “about halfway. Just finished the section on the Long Man.”

“That one was quite fascinating.”

“How far are you?” Wanda knows the answer before he says it, one because of the subtle flash of guilt in his eyes and two, this is the fifth book in their two-person cultural book club and he always finishes before her.

“I finished it three nights ago.” A grimace, or at least that is its closest relative, touches his lips. “My apologies, there is not much else to do while everyone sleeps.” Wanda waves away his apology while marking her spot and closing the book. When she looks up at him she smiles and waits for him to continue. “Should I sit?”

“Do you want to sit?”

Wanda thinks his shoulders lift a fraction of a centimeter and then drop back down; it may be a shrug, though such a thing would be terribly informal of him.“It does not bother me one way or the other, what is the socially acceptable action?”

Her heart aches at how quickly such simple social conventions seem to unravel his confidence. All she wants to tell him is that however he chooses to act is perfectly okay, that social acceptance is overrated. But she has been witness to the teasing by their teammates and to the way some of them side eye Vision when he, to quote Clint, ‘acts all weird.’ “My general rule,” so she has designated herself his social advisor and quickly found that, counter to what everyone predicted would happen, his company has become a highlight of her day, “is that if it is only going to be a brief chat about how they are doing, then I will stay standing. If I am in no hurry or intend to talk to them for more than five minutes, I'll sit.  But you do whatever is comfortable for you, I don't mind.”

Whenever he is faced with new information his irises first rotate clockwise, then counterclockwise, and clockwise again before they settle into either understanding or confusion. She smiles at the understanding in his eyes as he slowly walks to the couch and sits down on the cushion next to her. For a brief moment she considers letting him know that it is okay to not sit so close when they are the only ones on the couch, but decides it is not worth mentioning. “I wished to speak with you about your powers.”  Vision pauses and gazes into her eyes, assessing if she approves of the topic. Wanda nods. “I have been analyzing your training sessions and computing a model that predicts the outcome each time you use your powers.”

“Is that your fancy way of saying you've been checking me out?”

He opens his mouth to respond but then pauses, studying her face for some sort of cue. “You are being facetious?”

Wanda grins, proud that he's picking up on her humor. “Yeah. You were saying?”

“Ah yes, your powers. I believe you may not be utilizing them to their fullest capacity.” His eyes shyly meet hers, assessing if he has crossed a line. So she smiles at him again, their agreed upon sign that he can keep going with his thoughts. “As you are aware you have telepathic and telekinetic abilities.”

“Yep, can read thoughts and move stuff.”

The corner of Vision's mouth lifts just slightly enough that Wanda is pretty certain he smirked at her comment. “I believe you may also be able to manipulate the molecular polarity of items.”

There is an excitement in his eyes that she rarely sees and it makes her really want to be excited with him. “Could you rephrase that?”

“Of course, I believe that you can alter the fabric of reality by changing the structure of molecules to either bring something into existence, take it away, or fundamentally change what it is.” He pauses to allow her be to speak but she has no idea what to say. “I also believe this ability is not the result of the Mind Stone.In fact, based on simple structural equation modeling--”

“Could you repeat that last part?”

His hands stop mid gesticulation as he rewinds his thoughts. “Based on the information I have gathered from the Mind Stone, it did not give you this ability to alter reality. Which suggests you have always had the ability and perhaps the Mind Stone simply helped make it more accessible to you.”

Vision continues to speak but Wanda's mind is far away. There had been incongruities in her life that she always disregarded as coincidence. When she was six all she wanted was a doll with brown hair like her own, but her parents warned her that the doll was all sold out. That’s why the look of utter surprise on her parents’ faces when she pulled out the brown haired doll never left her memory. There were other times, more recent when her and Pietro struggled to eat while living their nomadic lives. Pietro always stole the bread on the worst days because he was faster and less prone to feelings of guilt about stealing. Several times she remembers hoping for just one or two pastila to be in the bag, even though such things were not common at the places they frequented. But then, as Pietro pulled their food out, he would frown at the currant pastila (her favorite) in his hand.

“Wanda?”

Wanda finds that her mind has stopped working, the implications of his words rearranging the interpretations of her entire life. “Could I have some time to digest this?”

“Yes, of course.”  Vision swiftly stands up, a slight frown on his face and his fingers nervously tapping against his leg. “I hope I did not upset you.”

“No,” she reaches up and grips his fingers, calming their dance with a light squeeze. “It’s just a big thing to be told. I’ll find you once I've let it settle.” Vision nods at her and glides away, the feeling of his hand phasing through her own leaving an odd tingle behind.

 

 

Several days pass without either one of them mentioning reality manipulating and Wanda is thankful for the fact that he does not push the topic, waiting patiently for her to approach him.  Part of her thinks that she may never bring it up again, content to be a freak only by the hands of scientists, because if she always had these powers (and she reasons that Pietro always had his as well), then what exactly does that make her? But, if she’s being honest, the powers that run through her veins have only grown more eager, pulsating under her skin at the thought of unleashing this new dynamic of her skill set. That’s why she waits until everyone else is occupied (Sam at his group therapy session, Rhodes doing classified military stuff, Natasha and Steve sitting in on an all day government conference) before she hesitantly approaches him as he cleans up the daily mess left by their teammates. Why the only person in the compound who doesn’t eat has to clean, she has not figured out nor, to be fair, has she suggested he not do it. 

“Hi Vision.”

He turns to greet her, drying a plate off in the process, “Good morning, Wanda. Did you sleep well last night?”

“I slept okay.” She sits at the counter, elbows finding the surface so that she can support her face in her hands as she watches him bustle around the kitchen. “You’re getting better at small talk, by the way.”

“Oh,” Wanda can feel her mouth lift at the minuscule smile he tries to stifle at the compliment, “Thank you. You have been an excellent tutor.”

And then there is silence, which is part of the routine they have set up and most days she is perfectly content to simply sit and watch him, enamored by the smoothness of his movements and the way the vibranium stays still while the muscles constrict around it. But today her mind is elsewhere. “Speaking of tutoring, do you think you could help me with the whole reality warping thing?”

This time he does not hide his smile. “Of course. I have actually been designing different challenges for you.” Her eyes follow him as he excitedly walks to the freezer and pulls out a bowl of ice, turning and placing it on the counter in front of her. “Could you melt this ice for me?” Wanda glances at the ice and then back up at him, noting the increased rotation of his irises as he stares, waiting for her to make her move. Hesitantly she lifts a hand, red rising up from her skin and forming a cloud around her fingers. With a slight flick of her wrist a red pulse careens towards the ice and they both watch as the bowl rattles.  She lifts herself up a bit and frowns at the still quite solid ice cubes. “Try again.” Again she calls her powers up, concentrating on the flow of red through her fingers. This time she imagines the ice turning to water as she sends a ball of red at the bowl. Vision lifts the bowl and tips it slightly, five drops of water falling out. “Very good.”

“Oh shut up. That’s just from it being out in a warm kitchen.” But her incredulity doesn’t stop the smile forming on her face at the feelings of pride flowing towards her from his mind. “Any suggestions?”

His fingers tap against the counter while his eyes appear to lose focus, a sign she has come to understand means that he is deep inside his mind. “Based on calculations from those two prior attempts, you should try to focus on a more specific factor than simply melting the ice.”

“Which would be?”

“Well,” his eyes refocus upon meeting hers. “The key is to excite the molecules enough to raise the temperature of the ice. If you wish, you can access my mind so that you can better analyze the molecular structures.”

Though the first thing he ever said to her was “Look again,” Wanda never actually took him up on the offer, having already felt uncomfortable with her intrusion into the minds of her then enemies, now teammates. However, it does not mean that the idea of slipping into his thoughts, seeing the world in the orderly, logical fashion that he describes hasn't been oddly tempting. “Are you sure?” He nods and the complete lack of reservation on his face finally convinces her.  Wanda exhales and leans towards him, reaching across the kitchen island until her finger lightly touches his temple. “Last chance to back out of it.”

“Wanda, it truly does not bother me to have you in my mind.”

“Alright,” once the tendril of red extends from her finger and into his temple, she pulls away and sits back down, eyes closed so that she does not have to reconcile her own perceptions with his.  The first difference she notices is the clarity of everything around them, the colors are brighter, contrasting more than melding together due to the increased sensitivity to light levels. Next, is that the compound is loud, with the whirring of the refrigerator, the swishing of the water in the dishwasher, the clacking of air flowing in and out of the vents. Before now she had thought the compound was eerily quiet with their teammates gone. Then there is the way the counter feels under his hands, not just hard, which is how she would describe it, but now she realizes how porous it is and its exact density. “How do you not get overwhelmed by everything?” Her voice sounds...nice, her accent melodic and the words easily understood, which is not at all how she would ever describe it.

She can feel him shrug, nonchalance spreading in his mind. “It is much like when there is a bad smell, eventually the senses become desensitized and you are no longer bothered by it.”

“Fair enough. Can you stop looking at me and focus on the ice?”  The image in her mind quickly shifts down to the ice, accompanied by what she thinks may be embarrassment. The longer Vision looks at the bowl the more detailed the image becomes, each ice cube becoming translucent to allow the underlying molecular structure to be revealed. “This is so weird.” Wanda is unsure if she is smiling or if she can simply feel the smile spreading across his face, but she knows that is irrelevant to the task at hand and so she does her best to ignore it. A warmth spreads through her hand as her fingers contort, waving in time with the way the molecules in the ice bounce off of each other. Using a steady pace she flicks her wrist and the molecules speed up, ricocheting faster and more chaotic until there is a sharp and loud burst of excitement in their joint mind. Wanda opens her eyes, pulling out of Vision’s mind, and studies the bowl of water.

“Well done.”

“I get a ‘Very good’ when ice melts naturally and just a ‘well done’ when I alter reality?” Wanda shoves his shoulder with her powers, a mischievous grin growing on her face. “Can we try again?  


 

 

It takes several weeks of daily practice for Wanda to be able to manipulate the ice without using Vision's mind, but eventually it is easier to do it in her own mind than in his. 

“Ah! Why does this keep happening?” Wanda snickers into her book on Hinduism as Rhodes stands up and walks to the kitchen, annoyance causing him to bang the freezer door open. “My ice keeps melting the second I put it in my drink. Every. Damn. Time. Tony better figure this out.” Once Rhodes pulls out the ice tray, Wanda can barely control her laughter when his exasperation reaches the couch, “Why is my whole drink frozen?”

“Oh don't give me that look,” her bare foot nudges Vision’s leg as she meets his amused yet disapproving gaze. “I'm just practicing.” Not only has Vision perfected the informality of shrugging but now she thinks he may have just rolled his eyes at her, clearly being influenced by Sam.

Once Rhodes leaves the room, still agitated by the changing ratio of ice to liquid, Vision slowly and deliberately shuts his book. “If you have grown bored of that task, I have more. I will be right back.” Without further warning he phases down through the couch and comes back up about thirty seconds later with a candle in his hand. Methodically he clears all debris from the coffee table and then places the candle down. “Try lighting this on fire. It is the same principle as melting the ice, but this requires you to manipulate the molecules already in the air.”

Wanda interlaces her fingers and then pushes her palms outwards, cracking her knuckles as she prepares. “I hope you're ready to be amazed.”  Red mist circles her still interlocked fingers, flowing back and forth as she closes her eyes and feels for the molecules in the air. This is already more difficult than the ice but she thinks she may have located what she wants. Wanda exhales and releases her powers. There is a brief, bright spark but the candle remains unlit.

“That was quite close. Next time focus on not only moving the molecules, but in order for combustion to occur you have to break the bonds between oxygen and carbon and form new bonds.” A brief glance to her side confirms that he is being completely serious in his suggestion. Along with the seriousness is an aura of awe that threatens a blush to spread on her cheeks. Pushing aside any other thoughts, she focuses again on the candle, each finger controlling a strand of red attached to its own particle. Once she finds what she thinks he means by bonded molecules she pulls her hands apart, the threads of red strain under the pressure, and then swiftly claps them together. There is a “fascinating” off to her side and it draws her eyes to just above the wick of the candle where a solitary, flickering flame dances unattached to anything. Wanda watches as Vision rises from the couch and kneels in front of the table, a reflection of the flame wavering in his pupils as he studies it.

“I take it that wasn’t supposed to happen?”

“It was not one of the anticipated outcomes, no.”

She slides off the cushion and joins him on the floor, admiring the way the flame illuminates the lines of his face and gleams off of the vibranium. “How many anticipated outcomes did you calculate?”

Vision finally tears his eyes from the flame and meets her gaze. “Fifteen.” Reverently he grips the candle in his hand and lifts it the inch upwards until the wick has connected to the flame and they both watch as it alights.  “Do you think you can replicate the outcome?”

And she does, mostly, fifteen more times until the room is filled with floating flames, though there are a few casualties including singed pillows, burnt books, and a small char mark on Vision’s sweater. “So what do your calculations say about this?”

They sit with their backs against the couch, his legs straight out and hers crossed in front of her, staring at the dark room illuminated only by the floating flames. “That I must add in an element of chaos theory to account for such semi-probabilistic incongruities.”

“You know,” it may be the darkened room or the way the fall air has dropped the temperature, but Wanda finds herself sliding closer to him, heart racing at the feeling of his finger lightly pressed against her own, “it's a pretty romantic setting.”

His chin just barely lifts and falls in agreement, eyes sweeping across the room. “There may be a future career in ambiance setting for you.”

“That’s,” the nervous laughter shakes her chest, and she is not sure if he is purposely avoiding her hint or if she needs to be more direct, “true. I was more thinking that it would be an opportune time for you to kiss me.”

The surprised fear that radiates from his mind lets her know that he just had yet to connect the dots, and for a brief moment she thinks he may phase through the floor to escape. Instead he takes a deep breath and slowly turns his face towards hers, irises rotating so quickly that it is impossible to discern if it is clockwise or counterclockwise. With an unnatural amount of hesitation, Vision lifts his hand so that the pads of his fingers trace along her cheek and into her hair, palm cupping her face. They stare at each other for several seconds and it is only when she flashes him a broad smile that he leans in.  Though it might be the most chaste kiss she has ever experienced, her heart erupts in warmth at the pressure of his slightly cooled lips against her own. When they part, Wanda brings her hand to his chest, fingers gripping the blue sweater to keep their faces inches apart, so that once his eyes settle she can pull him back for a somewhat less chaste kiss. Unfortunately her plan fails as a frantic voice emerges behind them.

“Fire! Fire!” Sam’s voice breaks them apart and Wanda leans her forehead against Vision’s, cursing Sam’s name in Sokovian, before sighing and standing up to handle the situation.

  


 

Despite wanting to find another quiet moment together to talk about what happened, life as an Avenger never quite slows down long enough.

“Maximoff, report on your status.”

“Uh, currently facing a wall of ice filled with bombs.”

There is silence across the comms until Steve’s voice crackles back in, “Do you need backup?”

Wanda considers the skills of her teammates, attempting to figure out if anyone could help. They’re currently infiltrating one of the last (that they know of) remaining Hydra bases in Russia and the entire mission has been an exercise in winter themed ingenuity. Including the wall of solid ice peppered with what appear to either be landmines or tiny bombs. “Maybe Vision? I just need a bit more time to figure out how best to do this.”  

Steve’s voice echoes through the room again. “Vision, what’s your status?”

“I am,” there is a distinct sound of crushing metal, “one robot away from being able to aid Miss Maximoff.”

“Good. Keep us updated on your progress.”

Wanda approaches the wall and runs a gloved hand over the ice, assessing the amount of power she will need to melt it. There is one bomb close to the surface and so she squares her shoulders and brings both hands to rest on the ice, scarlet flowing from her fingers and into the wall. At first it melts slowly, a rivulet cascading to the ground, but then something shifts under her hands and she steps back, hands rising to cover her mouth. Red weaves through the ice, untempered and increasing in speed as the wall collapses in the middle, and a high pitched beeping emits from the now uncovered bombs.

A subtle breeze at her side and a hand gently placed on her shoulder informs her that backup has arrived. “Wanda?”

There is a loud pop as the first of the unmelted bombs explodes. “Vizh I think we may need to run.” Without hesitation, he scoops her up in his arms and flies them far enough away that only a warm breeze from the explosions can be felt on her skin. They float in the air, staring at the now non-existent room. Wanda reaches to her ear to activate the comm, “Uh Steve, the wall is no more.”

“What exactly does that mean, Maximoff?”

Wanda stares down the smoke filled hallway but can't make out any details of what might be left. “I may have blown it up.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, Vision got me out. We’ll head back towards the quinjet now.” She switches the comm off and wraps an arm around Vision’s neck, quite content to let him carry her a bit longer. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Oh, it was nothing.”

“Any idea what happened back there?”

His arms tighten around her as he considers his answer. “I was unable to get a full reading but I believe your powers activated a complex chemical reaction, though I am unsure exactly how it did so.”

“While I was melting the ice there was this feeling of movement and then my powers just did their own thing.”

“I will ask for video from the mission and analyze it for probabilistic estimates of the outcome. It very well could be a chaotic element again.” Vision, much to her chagrin, gently puts her down and begins traveling towards the quinjet. Wanda glances around at the empty hallway, devoid of any teammates or other distractions and throws up a wall of red that makes Vision stop, turn around and stare at her in confusion, brows pulled down and his eyes slowing in their rotation. She moves until their chests touch, wrapping one arm around his neck and her other hand lifts so that her fingers can trace the vibranium on the side of his face. Wanda's adrenaline was already coursing through her body from the bombs, but when he closes his eyes at the feeling of her fingers, something else joins the adrenaline and she finds herself pulling his mouth to hers in a less than chaste manner. Which, blissfully, he responds to quite quickly, arms gripping her closer to his body and lifting her just enough that neither has to strain.

It's Natasha's voice this time that breaks them apart. “You two do know the quinjet has video feeds on everyone, right?” His bright blue eyes focus on her as he pulls away, nervousness showing in the way his mouth hangs slightly open, and Wanda knows she should respond but all she wants to do is kiss him again. “How about this, I'm the only one on the ship right now, just come back, and I won't tell anyone about what happened until you're ready to do so.”

“Thank you, Agent Romanov, we will return shortly.”

 

On the flight back, Wanda sits in her usual spot next to Vision, arms reaching behind her so that she can lean back and watch everyone. If it also happens to inconspicuously put her hand behind his cape so she can occasionally ruffle his feathers (i.e. feel his muscles ever so slightly tighten) by running a finger along his thigh, then so be it. The major entertainment on this flight, besides the constant one-up-manship show of who did more work on the mission, is watching as Natasha (who keeps winking at them) sets wagers with both Rhodes and Sam on who in the Avengers will hook up. Based on the surface thoughts and the disbelieving glances coming their way, she is certain Natasha has put all of her money on Wanda and Vision.

  


 

The week post the great ice adventure (or so Sam has called it after hearing what happened) leaves the compound a ghost town. Sam and Steve left almost immediately on a secret mission to Poland, Rhodes only comes to the compound every other day for training, and Natasha just disappears for days at a time.  What this does mean is that Wanda’s bravery increases so that whenever she finds Vision standing on the roof, manhandling food in the kitchen, reading on the couch, training in the gym, or just casually floating through walls she can simply pull him close -- whether it be in a hug, a kiss, a cuddle, an arm wrapped around his waist as they stand outside -- she can do it all without reservation or fear of being watched. It takes a couple of days, but eventually he begins to initiate the contact as well, understanding that it is acceptable behavior for him to complete.  Around that time Wanda realizes they may have started a habit that will be hard to break when the others return. Their increased closeness also makes it difficult to focus while they work on her reality manipulation.

Currently Vision is seated across the table from her, both hands resting on the wooden surface, eyes flickering between his hands and her annoyed gaze. “You can do this Wanda, do not get aggravated.”

The edges of her lips fall down into a frown as she inhales deeply and lifts her fingers again. Under one of his hands, though he won’t tell her which one, is a marble, she is supposed to locate the marble, make it disappear, and then have it reappear under his other hand. If not for the fact that he smartly wore her favorite sweater, she is fairly certain the marble would be thrown at his face by now. As her eyes close she reaches out her power to probe at his hands, attempting to differentiate his density from the table and from the marble, but nothing seems to work. “I can’t do this.”  

His mouth opens and then shuts slightly, eyes darting back and forth as he considers his next works. “Would it help if I told you which hand it was under?”

“Maybe?” Slowly he lifts his left hand and the damn marble stares at her, mocking her inability to move it until he puts his hand back down over it. Now that she is aware of the location, its existence seems somewhat tangible to her powers, a small blip on the molecular radar. Once she believes she’s found it, a wave of red crashes into his hand as she concentrates on eradicating the sphere. But her concentration is broken when an odd, slightly melodic sound escapes Vision’s mouth and he lifts his hand to touch his lips, concern and embarrassment shining in his rapidly turning eyes. “Did you just giggle?”

Vision straightens just a fraction in his seat, shoulders pulling taut and hand rotating back in forth on the table as he examines it. “There was a prickling sensation, it excited the nerves in my hand, and then a sound came out against my will.” 

“So,” Wanda stands and walks over to sit next to him, grabbing his hand in her own, “what you’re saying is that you’re ticklish?”

“Is that what tickling feels like?”

When Wanda and Pietro were children, they used to challenge each other to flinching contests, sometimes punches or slaps, but mostly it involved tickling the palm. With excellent muscle memory, she grips his wrist and turns it so that his palm is up, placing the tip of her index finger gingerly on the end of his middle finger. With agonizing slowness, Wanda draws her finger down his, across the palm, and to his wrist. A smile forms on her face at the way his fingers flinch and he shakes his hand. The same thing happens the second and third time she does it and a devilish grin spreads across her face as she drops his hand. “Vizh?”

“Yes?” His voice is laced with concern as she leans closer.

“Want to find out just how ticklish you are?”

“What about the marble?”

Satisfaction fills her mind as she wraps the marble in red and throws it in the kitchen, lost to them forever. “We can work on that later, I think this is a more pressing issue. Come on,” she pulls his arm until he is standing and then leads him to the couch, pushing him down and sitting beside him. First she traces his hand again, ensuring that he has not somehow desensitized himself to it already. When his hand flinches she pushes up the sleeve of his sweater, fingers tracing the curve of of his muscles and the edge of vibranium. Vision attempts to pull his arm away but she holds it steady, continuing to run her fingers up and down, satisfied at the way he squirms just enough to show her that it is affecting him. Then he gets smart and phases his arm away.

“It is a most unusual sensation.”

Wanda smiles at him and reaches for his other arm, only to find it incorporeal as well. “Are you going to let me keep experimenting?” When he hesitates she lightly brushes against his mind. “You know, there's nothing to be embarrassed about, most humans are ticklish. Plus,” her fingers reach through his arm and run along his side, “Helen will probably want the data.” She feels somewhat guilty at pulling out the big D word, but it does the job as he relaxes his body into the couch, an imperceptible slouch to his shoulders as he nods at her to continue. Delicately she runs her fingers up his side, along his shoulder, and traces the vibranium around his auditory sensors. It's as her fingers dip back down along his neck that the rewarding sound of a laugh brings a smile to her face.

“I believe,” Vision wraps her fingers in his own, “you have proved your point.”

“Oh I don’t think so, one laugh is not good enough. Come here.” But she finds that his body dissipates around her fingers and if not for the smile growing on his face, she would think he was upset. In a last, desperate attempt to win the battle, Wanda repositions herself to straddle his lap so that he cannot get away easily. There is a perceptible shift in his mood at this point, and when his hands run up along her side and his pupils dilate, everything else is forgotten except the need to feel his lips on her own.

  


 

When Wanda wakes the next morning her mood is considerably better than it has been in a long time because for the first time since Pietro’s death, life feels content. If they keep going along this trajectory, at some point she is going to have to suggest they actually go on a date, though that may require labeling whatever shift in their relationship is occurring and she is not sure she is ready for that step. There is a knock on her door, clearly not Vision as he would have already phased through the wall, and she opens it to find Steve. “Good morning, Steve. When did you get back?”

“Just now, actually.” His smile is strained and the circles under his eyes confirm that he has not slept in several days. “I need you to be ready to leave for an undercover mission in thirty minutes. We’ll brief you on the quinjet.”

Wanda hurriedly packs a bag and begins walking the compound, attempting to mentally locate Vision. Eventually she can sense him in the kitchen and so she jogs until she is in the common area. Unfortunately, Vision is not alone, Natasha and Sam are sitting at the counter immersed in a lively conversation concerning what sounds like books versus their movie adaptations. “You know, Vision, I'm not surprised you're a book snob. But seriously, the Lord of the Rings movies were great.”

Natasha grins at Wanda as she approaches and rolls her eyes at guys. “Sam, I agree they are excellent, but the books encompass so much more that I cannot fathom only ever watching the movies. This includes-” Her arrival cuts off his next statement, “Good morning, Wanda. Would you like some tea?”

She nods and sits at the counter next to Sam, who immediately turns and starts talking. “You ready for your first undercover mission?”

“I think so,” she smiles at Vision as he hands her her tea, purposely brushing his hand with her fingers during the transfer. “So who all is going?”

“You, me, Nat, and Steve. Should be pretty easy.”

Natasha sips her coffee, eyes moving between Wanda, Sam, and Vision. “Hey Sam, could you go and grab some knockout grenades. I think I forgot to pack them.”

“Sure thing.”  Once Sam is out of the common space, Natasha leans forward onto the counter, a cheshire smile growing on her face. “Please, don't let me stop your goodbye.” When neither of them move, Nat waves her hand impatiently.

Surprisingly, Vision moves first, reaching out to grab her hands and bring her into a hug. “Be careful.”

“As long as it's not a marble, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” As she lifts up on her toes to kiss him she can only focus on two things, the curve of his grin against her lips and the gagging sound behind them courtesy of Nat. “Try not to get too bored.”

 

Once they reach the quinjet, the undercover team takes to their assigned spots (though Wanda finds the empty seat next to her disappointing) while Sam warns everyone that the door is closing before taking them up into the air. Once they are cruising, Steve gathers them around a monitor. “Here’s what we’ll be doing in Lagos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I realized that I am a glutton for fluffy Scarlet Vision training, this was way longer than planned. But enjoy the extreme fluffiness for now, soon it will begin to intermingle with angst. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


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